


Sons of Abraham

by hillbillied



Series: Donald Malarkey never went to mass [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jewish, Antisemitism, Gen, Jewish Character, Liebgott pretending he's Jewish, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillbillied/pseuds/hillbillied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Him and Liebgott have an <i>understanding</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sons of Abraham

**Author's Note:**

> as a jew, it's always confused and fascinated me why Liebgott pretended to be jewish, even though he was raised catholic
> 
> this AU was created, however, to give Easy Company an actual jewish member. for my own entertainment more than any socio-political activism. because i like my jewishness and i like writing about Malarkey, so lo-and-behold!
> 
> the bottom notes are more informative - hope you cool critters enjoy this drabble anyway!

"He ain't _Catholic_."

The words have a bite to them, a bitter aftertaste that Guarnere needs to get out his mouth. Sparking like embers even as he laughs out his response, leaning casually against the rows upon rows of metal-boned cots.

"Neither is Sobel." A voice reminds them.

Nobody listens. At least, nobody seems to - not in the split second it takes Guarnere to snort and unleash his next biting words.

"That prick's a son of Abraham."

Everybody's listening now, all ears piqued with interest. Moths to a flame, ignited by the sparks Bill lets float into the confined space.

Liebgott stops pretending he's not one of the eavesdroppers.

"He's what?"

Guarnere eyes him with a frown, not unpleasent - just curious. Trying to figure out if the guy's somehow sheltered enough to never hear such a phrase, or just plain _stupid_.

" _He's a Jew_."

There's a pause, a sudden silence, but the quiet isn't peaceful. It's heavy and pounding like the sound of boots hitting the metal floor, puncuated with a soft hiss of ' _Fuck.._.'.

There's more than just listening in now, men sitting up to get a better view of the skinny brunette squaring up to their own _Wild Bill_. Liebgott's voice is low, like he's forcing down a rumbling menace in his tone - but he's not whispering.

He wants the world to hear.

" _I'm a Jew_."

Guarnere looks him up and down, adjusts his stance and makes it clear exactly how little he cares.

" _Congratulations_." He snorts, jaw squaring in challenge, "Get your nose outta my face."

The bunks erupt in a commotion. A couple of punches thrown, maybe - no one's counting, since no one's betting - most of the spectators jumping in to pull the two apart. The narrow corridor between the cots isn't the place for a proper fight, just a petty struggle, and it's not in anyone's interest to see the latter.

Easy's only got a future if they all make it over the Atlantic in one piece, disagreeing members included. _Can't play chess with two missing pieces on your side_. Can't win a game, neither. At least, that's the expression Luz gives Liebgott as he steers him away from the fray. A pat on his shoulder from the small company comedian and he's set walking, shouldering his way down the overgrown passage of cots.

_Get some air_ , he's been advised. Joe's mouth couldn't help the quiet ' _This rust-bucket ain't got no Goddamn air_ ' before Luz had helpfully pulled him out of there, sent him on his way.

A cigarette finds his fingers as he rumages in his pockets, and Liebgott lights it gladly. The first drag is _Heaven_ , and the irony of that isn't lost on the man as he slumps down against an unoccupied cot. Ass on the floor, legs stretched out under the opposite bunk. _Peace_.

It's quieter here, with only a few disgarded supplies and drop-gear littering the empty bunks. The vacant bunks are almost eerie, missing soldiers who hadn't made it for the trip. Pretty dark, too, the light flowing from the same direction as the laughter.

Liebgott can see the lamps flickering a little way off, amongst all the hundreds of filled beds and their occupants. _Amongst Easy company_.

Another gust of smoke surrounds him as the paratrooper takes his second drag.

He can't place why he did it. How a stunt like that could have _ever_ been a good idea.

Guarnere's words were just so _easy_ , so perfectly laid out before him. And _casual_ , too, if the bastard's smirk was anything to go by. Liebgott wondered what the others might think of him now, if they shared the same easy-placed and ever-casual prejudice.

Not that he could call it that here. Not out-loud, anyway. He'd be berated for _overreacting_ , like any of the ten or more men who'd heard Bill speak could deny the distaste in his voice.

It's something that haunts Liebgott's thoughts, even as he takes the final drag of his smoke and squashes it under his heel. His slender fingers search for another in his pocket, scratching against the _Lucky Strikes_ box wedged against his chest. He pulls one out soon enough, in time with the body slumping down next to his own.

Joe doesn't look up, placing the cigarette between his teeth. He doesn't want to be questioned right now, even if those questions offer comfort. He doesn't have an answer for ' _How you holdin' up?_ ' much less a ' _What the Hell was that about?_ '.

Thankfully, he gets neither. Instead, a lighter flickers into view, a pair of hands not his own reaching up to ignite his cigarette. Liebgott grunts in acknowledgement, leaning over to help get the thing burning. Smoke starts trailing up towards the ceiling once more as the lighter clicks shut before him.

Liebgott watches the smoke rise, following it with his eyes as his company shifts to put away his lighter. In hindsight, he should have been paying more attention.

There's a chuckle and the man beside him speaks, huffing out something Joseph doesn't catch. He turns his head towards the noise, humming his confusion around the cigarette in his mouth.

He comes face to face with a familiar crooked smile, an unlit smoke between grinning teeth, and a mop of disheveled ginger hair. There's no life-vest around his neck or ' _contraband_ ' magazine between his fingers this time, but Liebgott knows him all the same. It doesn't keep the confusion from his face though, brow furrowing as he sends the man a hostile stare.

Malarkey remains unfazed, repeating the same words once more as his turns his attention to lighting up his own cigarette. Again, Liebgott strains to hear, even in the relative quiet of the unoccupied cots. It's not the volume that's the problem, he realizes, each syllable resonating above the distant noise of the other paratroopers. It's more that, somehow, he doesn't understand what Malarkey's saying.

"The fuck you say t'me?" Joe tries instead, taking his own cigarette between his fingers as smoke clouds from his company's breath.

Don pauses before his next drag, crooked smile now accompanied by a somewhat cunning frown, a look that Liebgott's not sure he's ever seen the Irishman wear.

"I said," Malarkey huffs, shaking his head as only a man repeating himself a third time can. "Yasher koach!"

The words fall flat somewhere between their locked gazes, a pair of expectant eyes smiling across to meet only a blank stare.

If he'd thought a little harder about it - if he'd spent any time _at all_ planning this cliff-dive into hot water - Liebgott might have had a response ready. Whether a dismissal or a laugh or even another punch to swing, _anything_ would have trumped the silent look of bewilderment that _was_ Joseph Liebgott at that moment.

He watches as Malarkey straightens up where he sits, shoulders squaring against the edge of the bottom cot. Though the man's smile is still there, soft and pleasant, Joe doesn't miss the tension that tugs at his friend's features. The tiny flicker in Don's eyes that's gone when he blinks. It's not that he looks disappointed - more like the speck of hope he'd held for Libegott's response had been snuffed out.

Malarkey's words are a little more forceful as he takes another drag from his neglected smoke.

" _Baruch tihyeh_?"

They're met with silence, a quiet only made bearable by the distant noises of Easy's other men. Liebgott knows it's a question, sure, the tone of voice not lost on his sharp senses. But for every syllable he hears, it's another wave of confusion for him to process.

It's like Malarkey's speaking a foreign language, no matter how comfortably his accent fits around the sounds.

There's an impatience to Don's words by then, hope turned to desperation for some kind of acknowledgment.

"Sh'ma? Kiddush? Challah?" The man waves his hands, wildly gesturing like he can't think of a simpler way to explain himself, " _Shabbat_?!"

Joe's silent, and it only takes another moment for Malarkey's hands to fall back to his knees with a clap. Liebgott watches his friend's chest rise and fall, hands dragging over his thighs in frustration before he can continue.

"You got no idea what I'm talkin' about, do you?"

It feels more like a statement than a question. For the first time in his life, Joe doesn't protest, gives no response as his mouth remains clamped shut over his withering cigarette.

Don doesn't seem fazed, not anymore. He just breathes, nods carefully. Like he's agreeing something with himself, resigning to some internal surrender.

Liebgott watches the man rise with a shrug, discarding his cigarette with a grumble and huff of annoyance. Malarkey starts back off down the slim corridor between cots, body blotting out the distant light of their friends.

" _Hey_ , where you goin'?" Joe barks, hostility somehow resurfacing again, naught to ninety in a second flat, "What the fuck you even come down 'ere for?"

Don stops dead and spins on his heel .

"I dunno, Liebgott, _what the fuck're you pretendin' to be Jewish for_?"

It's like a punch to the gut, and Liebgott's almost offended, as if it's anything he can even protest about. Like the mere _accusation_ is insulting, even though they both know it's the truth. Joe even thinks he deserves it, too. He hadn't even thought-

A second punch hits, this time bringing Liebgott to his feet in a scramble of realisation. He stalks across the few paces that separate the two men, repeating on Malarkey the same move he'd pulled on Guarnere. His dog tags chime where they clatter against his chest, only this time it's not aggression that drives him forward. Don eyes him warily all the same, even as Joe clicks his tongue and smiles, eyes alight with an odd fascination.

" _How'd you know I'm pretendin'?_ "

Uneasy eyes dart over Liebgott's face, met with a sharp stare and an even _sharper_ smile. It reminds Malarkey of a shark grinning down at its prey. Bright, wide, and _all teeth_. The redheaded man falls quiet, backed into a corner. And if the look on Joe's face is anything to go by, he's fully aware of it.

" _C'mon_ , Malark," His voice is too soft for Don's taste, his nose wrinkling as he tears his eyes away from Liebgott's, "How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess." The shorter of the two mutters, eyes roaming his boots for something to distract him.

" _Bullshit_." Joe hisses back, still crowding his friend's space, making full use of his extra inches on the other man.

Silence falls between them once more, submerging them in another tense quiet neither wants to break. Silhouettes illuminate their faces in the dim light, flickering as the rest of Easy move across the distant lamp light. Their friends cast shadows over the two, nestled unobtrusively between the vacant bunks.

After another long drag of silence and Malarkey playing mute, Liebgott changes his approach.

"Why didn't you say somethin'?" It's almost gentle, the way his tone tries to pry an answer from the redhead. Or at least, it sounds like that to Don, knowing how most of what Liebgott's mouth produced sounded like.

"Why would I?" Malarkey admits, the pull of a smile smothered by the bitterness in his voice, "You heard ol' Gonorrhoea. Prick's like _Sobel_ and Sons of Abraham are _interchangeable_."

Liebgott wasn't smiling anymore. Somehow that didn't bring Don any comfort.

"So why'd you lemme walk into that?" Joe asks, shifting his stance as his voice dropped to barely a whisper. His teeth move as if chewing on something, a movement that might look anxious on anyone other than Liebgott. "You knew I weren't Jewish from the start."

It's Malarkey's turn to smile again, a fraction of that original crooked grin returning to his face as he stifles a laugh.

" _Rather you than me_."

(Liebgott found he could understand that, if nothing else about what had happened that day. Why stand up and paint a target on your chest when someone had openly offered to take the bullet for you.)

Even as Malarkey retreats back to the safety of his bed and more pleasant company, leaving Joe to his empty cot rows and burnt out cigarettes, Joe figures they'd come to an understanding between them.

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully i can get out the other one-shots i'm working on for this. i have what could probably fit together as chapters of a full story in mind, but posting them this way gives me the freedom to write whichever segments and snippets i fancy about this AU. which is safer considering the long and rich heritage of abandoned works trailing behind me.
> 
> so, Malarkey is Jewish in this story. no, not the real Sgt. Donald Malarkey - the dramatised character played by Scott Grimes. that Malarkey, _**fictional**_ Malarkey, is jewish in this universe. cause, y'know, don't wanna offend and RPF really isn't my thing.
> 
> **ACTUAL TRANSLATION NOTES**  
>  * **Yasher koach** (יְשַׁר כֹּחַ) means 'may your strength be firm' (used as 'well done') in Hebrew  
>  the customary response in more devout communities to this is **Baruch tihyeh** (ברוך תהיה) meaning 'may you be blessed'  
>  i had to actually think about that one because we don't use it too often in the liberal community. the rest of the words Malarkey says are stuff that just came off the top of my head as 'hebrew words you'd definitely know if you were a jew in the 1940s'. i'll let you guys look em up!
> 
> anyway, hope you enjoyed it! comments, kudos, all that jazz, are much appreciated! (keeps me sane)
> 
> * **EDIT**  
>  i was super nervous about posting this but it seems to have been enjoyed by a few people! which is awesome so thank you for the support!


End file.
